Mehrangiz, the Negro girl, slept in the same room with the children. They would spread the beds side by side in the large room; the oldest bed belonged to Mehrangiz. After Ali and his two sisters had filled the room with their play until they were tired they would lie down in their beds, the eldest sister would lower the lamp, and they would wait for Mehrangiz, who would still be washing dishes in the kitchen opposite. Ali could hear the sound of dishes and the splashing of water. Then when Mehrangiz put out the kitchen light he would curl up happily in his bed and squeeze his face against the pillow.

Mehrangiz would tip-toe into the room, blow out the lamp and lie down in bed so quietly that if Ali didn't stay awake waiting for her he would never hear a sound. Then, in the darkness, Ali would begin to plead with her to tell him stories.

These stories were always the same: tales of Mehrangiz, her mother, and of other Negro nurses.

"Mehrangiz's mother, as a child, is playing naked by the river with other Negro children when a big man in an Arabic headdress gets off the camel-litter and cries out to them, 'Taal! Taal!' 'Come! Come!' Only Mehrangiz's mother, who is the youngest of all the children, runs toward him. The big man gives her a few sweets, sweeps her into his arms, and puts her into the camel-litter. She begins to cry and struggle. A hand holds her mouth firmly. She bites the hand. The man hits her on the mouth and she begins to bleed. Then, exhausted from crying, she falls asleep. When she awakes, she finds herself in a boat, and although the boat is full of Negroes--men, women, and children--her father and mother are not among them. She cries and cries. A Negro woman gives her a red apple. "Are we going to my mother?" she asks, but the woman just shakes her head and repeats "Alas, alas," in her own language.

Mehrangiz's mother learned this language and can still remember it, but Mehrangiz never learned it at all.

Then the little Negro girl, Mehrangiz's mother, is sold to Ali's Grandfather, who calls her Baji Delnavaz.

Ali has heard the story many times, but every time he hears it he promises Mehrangiz that if he ever lays hands on the big man he will cut him to pieces with the kitchen knife.

"Fine. Now go to sleep," Mehrangiz would always say.

The next night she would tell him another story: "Nurolsaba, Navab's Negro nurse, was above all nurses. She wasn't as dark as Delnavaz and Mehrangiz. Her nose wasn't flat. Her eyes were almond-shaped instead of round and her hair wasn't kinky. She was as beautiful as the two statues of Negro girls in the living room. She wasn't like me, Ali, with no eyebrows, and eyes the size of a split pea.

"Anyhow. . . I was still at your grandfather's when one day Nurolsaba came to the house from Navab's. She had come over to invite the mistress to the funeral of Master Navab, who had been shot in front of the consulate. She wore a black silk chador, and when she entered the room she was so tall that she had to bend her head to avoid hitting the lintel of the door. She didn't kiss your grandmother on the shoulder, she only said "hello." That's all. Then she took a saucer of roasted coffee beans from a black silk handkerchief and put it in front of grandmother.

"Not long after that all Shiraz learned who she really was and what she did. One day, my dear Ali, three new, shiny carriages stop in front of Navab's house. A nigger dressed up in a suit and sheepskin hat gets off the first carriage, and he is followed by other niggers, all wearing suits and sheepskin hats and ties and shirts. Behind them all, another nigger gets off carrying a chest covered in red velvet. They are all ministers of Nurolsaba's land. They knock at Navab's door. Navab's wife sends for Nurolsaba. When she comes they bow down to her. They all bow down to her. In the chest, my dear, there are gowns from India, and jewels. They give them to Nurolsaba to put on. When she walks past them to climb into the carriage the niggers bow to her again, so low their heads knock against their knees. She climbs into the fine carriage in her gowns and her jewels and they drive her away. She never comes back; she is a queen, at last, in her own land.

"From that day on, my dear, it has become the dream of every nigger nurse to be taken away like that by someone."

"Maybe they'll come for you, too. If they come, will you leave me and go?" Ali would ask. And Mehrangiz would always answer, "Now go to sleep--we'll see about that in the morning."

Ali knew that Baji Delnavaz was Mehrangiz's mother. But who was her father? Ali's mother always talked about the old days when more than twenty slave girls would sit down to each meal in her father's house, about her mother's pilgrimage to Mecca and her father's joking with the ship-captain. This last she hadn't witnessed, but had heard about.

Ali's mother always said that Baji Delnavaz had been dearer and more respected than the other slaves. They had even taken her on the famous trip to Mecca. But after the journey she became homesick and carried on terribly for a while.

Mehrangiz had been the playmate of the young masters and mistresses, and when Ali's mother had married she took Mehrangiz to her husband's house as part of her dowry. She was sad about having had to put her to work. "It isn't proper to put a person whom one takes as part of one's dowry to work as a domestic; she should attend instead to her mistress's wardrobe. But there was no wardrobe to need an attendant. What else was I to do?"

Ali himself remembered one day when Baji Delnavaz came to their house. She was so old she had to walk with the help of a stick, and she wore torn, worn-out clothing. His mother was at the pond, doing ablutions to prepare for her prayer when she saw Baji Delnavaz arrive. "Mehrangiz," she cried, washing her feet, "Come--your mother is here."

Mehrangiz brought Baji Delnavaz into the living room, where Ali and his sisters stayed out of the way and unusually quiet. Ali's mother stood at her prayers.

Baji Delnavaz sat near the door and wept as she told Mehrangiz how her master had turned her out with no place to go now that she was old. Ali and his younger sister began to cry. The younger sister brought her old jacket and gave it to Delnavaz. Ali was pleased. He brought all the raisins and nuts he had saved and poured them into the old woman's lap. His mother was still praying, and Ali could tell by the tone of her whispering that she was angry with them. They were all waiting now for her to finish, but she lingered so long over the supplication that it was obvious she was deliberately prolonging the prayer.

When she finally finished, Ali breathed a sigh of relief. Delnavaz went at once and kissed the mistress's shoulder. Awkwardly, she began her story over, but Ali's mother stopped her.

"I heard every word. It's enough."

"Only let me sleep in your basement tonight," Baji Delnavaz pleaded. "I've no place to go. . ."

"No. How many mouths must we feed? Even Mehrangiz is one too many."

"Mistress ... I'm old and an invalid; I'll have to beg in the streets."

"Beg, then. What do I care?"

Ali's mother turned back into the house; Ali and his younger sister followed, crying and pleading with her to help Delnavaz. She only glared at them.

They could hear the slow tapping of Delnavaz's cane as she left the house. Still pleading, Ali ran to open one of the living room windows so that he could shout to Delnavaz in the street, but his mother pushed him away and leaned out herself. "Go to Monavar Khanom," she cried out when the old woman came into view. "Is it a sin to be the elder sister?"

Ali went into the kitchen to be with Mehrangiz. She was putting wood into the stove, tears running down her cheeks as she worked. One drop glided over her chin and down her neck.

Ali sat beside her. "Don't cry," he said. "If my aunt doesn't keep you when you get old, then when I grow up . . ."

"I'm not crying," Mehrangiz said. "It's the smoke."

"What smoke?"

Mehrangiz put a finger to her lips. "Don't tell the mistress I cried," she whispered.

A month passed, or a little less. One day, around evening, Monavar Khanom's husband came for Mehrangiz, who had gone to the baths. He whispered something to Ali's mother. "My poor sister, what a bother," she said, shaking her head. The uncle nodded solemnly.

"Run to the baths and tell Mehrangiz to come home immediately," his mother shouted to Ali. He was putting his shoes on when he heard her tell his uncle, "Why don't you go too and pick her up on the way? I don't want her to be making scenes here."

When Ali and his uncle reached the baths they waited outside, behind the thick cotton curtain of the entrance. The uncle called the bath-keeper and whispered something in her ear. Then they waited. Ali heard Mehrangiz's voice from inside: "Let me just wash my hair, then I'll come."

"No, you must hurry. It's urgent!"

"Has someone come to ask me in marriage?" Mehrangiz asked, and Ali heard her snap her fingers playfully.

"Your mother's dying and you snap your fingers?" shouted the old bath-keeper.

Ali heard Mehrangiz's cry and he burst into tears.

Mehrangiz fell three times before they reached Monavar Khanom's house.

"Why on earth did you bring the child?" his aunt asked her husband at the door.

"He came on his own."

"Come Nayer," his aunt called out. "Ali is here." Then she turned to her husband. "May God forgive her. She died at a bad time. It's evening."

Nayer and Ali went outside to play. "Let's play dying," Nayer said.

"Is Baji Delnavaz dead?" Ali asked.

"Yes. Just before Mehrangiz came."

On the fortieth day of Delnavaz's death, Ali and Mehrangiz went to Sofeh Torbat Cemetery to visit her grave. They searched for a long time and asked many people before they finally found it. There was nothing but a mound marked by a brick. Mehrangiz embraced the mound and cried so wildly that Ali was frightened.

That night Ali waited for Mehrangiz to blow out the lamp in the kitchen and come to tell him stories. One story had been added to her tales: the story of her mother's death. But the kitchen turned dark and still Mehrangiz did not come. Ali was worried and couldn't sleep. Finally, late at night, he heard her whispering in another part of the house. Later still his father's shadow crossed the doorway.

The next morning Ali's father couldn't find his glasses. They looked everywhere; even the children helped. But Ali's mother didn't lift a finger, as if it were none of her concern. She sat and watched the search and from time to time smiled mockingly to herself. Ali didn't like her mocking smile.

Ali went to search her folded prayer rug, thinking the glasses might be there, but he hadn't yet touched it when his mother was at his side. She pushed him into the middle of the room, screaming. "Leave it alone! Your hands are unclean."

Finally his father went to work without his glasses. He had to buy a new pair, and from that night on he slept with them on.

Ali hadn't started school yet, although both his sisters went. One morning soon afterwards, Mehrangiz had taken them to school and had just returned. Ali's mother was in the kitchen. Ali was sitting at the doorway of the big room where he could see everything that went on in the house. When Mehrangiz entered the kitchen Ali's mother began to hit her over the head with a piece of firewood. Ali jumped from the doorway and ran through the courtyard into the kitchen. He tried to hold his mother's hand back. His mother wore a strange mocking smile: Mehrangiz's head was bleeding.

"Please don't. I'm scared, I'm scared," Ali begged his mother. He was crying, but Mehrangiz wasn't crying.

"The nigger is bleeding, why are you crying?" his mother demanded, suddenly turning to him.

Mehrangiz went to the pond and washed her head. The blood didn't stop, and Ali was surprised that Mehrangiz wasn't crying. His mother picked some burned tobacco from the water pipe, which was by the pond, and put it on the wound. "You'll end up a whore," she said.

"What's a whore?" asked Ali.

"I'm going to have you examined by a midwife," his mother continued.

Then Mehrangiz burst into tears.

*

What was wrong with summer was that it would separate Ali and Mehrangiz. In summer, the pond was covered with a platform; Ali would sleep there with his parents and sisters while Mehrangiz slept in the yard on a mattress.

One evening, Monavar Khanom and her daughter, Nayer, came to visit. Monavar sat crosslegged beside Ali's mother, smoking a water pipe. The two women talked in low voices and Monavar cried, wiping away the tears with the corner of her chador. The children were playing fortress on the steps that led to the big room. Nayer and Ali were on one side and the other kids on the other side. Once, when Nayer and Ali captured the fortress they embraced and kissed.

"Shame on you, Ali" shouted Ali's mother, who had been keeping an eye on the children as she talked to Monavar Khanom.

"There's nothing wrong with that, sister," said Monavar Khanom, putting the pipe aside. "Didn't we intend them for each other from the beginning?"

"It will be as God wills," sighed Ali's mother.

Monavar Khanom and her daughter stayed over that night, and slept in the bed usually occupied by Ali's father. Then Mehrangiz brought out the bed from the kitchen and made it up for Ali's father. Ali's mother insisted that Mehrangiz sleep indoors, but Monavar Khanom interceded, saying, "She'll die of heat, sister," so that Ali's mother surrendered. Mehrangiz slept on her mattress in the yard.

The moonlight kept Ali awake that night--that and the fear that he would wet his bed, and that the wet mattress would be spread out the next day to dry where his cousin could see it. His mother was asleep. Monavar Khanom was snoring. Then, as he lay sleepless, he thought he heard Mehrangiz's whisper and was glad. He sat up in bed and called softly to her, but there was no answer.

Then, in the moonlight, he noted something strange about his father's bed--the blankets looked swollen and misshapen. He thought bakhtak was sitting on his father's chest, and held his breath, straining to see. Mehrangiz had told him about bakhtak. He waited for his father to grab its mud nose and make it reveal the hiding place of its treasures. He couldn't see bakhtak's nose, yet he could tell that there was a struggle going on. He was frightened, but hopeful. Then the struggle subsided, and bakhtak got up. Ali screamed, "Catch it! Grab its nose!" to his father. His mother, lying beside him, cried, "Go to sleep," in a hoarse whisper, and in his excitement he realized he had wet the bed.

The next morning Mehrangiz was once again hit with a piece of firewood and got a broken head, and Ali's mattress was left out to dry where everyone could see. Mehrangiz looked at him despondently and said, "You shouldn't have done that."

Monavar Khanom and Nayer stayed for a few days, until Ali's uncle came to the house. When Monavar Khanom heard his voice she locked herself in the closet in the living room. Then she came out and cried and they all went home. As they were leaving, Ali heard his mother say, "Don't forget to send her over, sister."

A few days later a big red-headed woman, her hands and feet colored with henna, came to the house. Ali's mother treated her with respect, rose to meet her, and called to Mehrangiz to bring in tea. But no matter how many times she called to Mehrangiz for the tea, there was no answer. Finally she sent Ali in to fetch her. He found her sitting on the bed in the kitchen, trembling like a willow.

"What's wrong? Are you cold?" Ali asked. "Go out into the sun."

But Mehrangiz didn't budge, and wouldn't answer although they could both hear Ali's mother calling her. The big woman came into the kitchen, put her hands on her waist, and bawled at Mehrangiz to do as she was told.

Mehrangiz shook so hard her teeth chattered, but still she wouldn't move. She sat with her eyes on the tile of the floor and didn't look up. Ali was frightened.

At last Ali's mother and the big woman dragged Mehrangiz into the living room and locked the door behind them. Ali and his sisters listened behind the door. The elder sister whispered something to the younger and they burst out laughing. But they wouldn't tell Ali why.

Then they heard Mehrangiz screaming, and Ali began to tremble himself and cry.

*

Ali was fifteen and preparing for his finals, when his father became ill. His father had had many dreams, but none of them had materialized. He hadn't even succeeded in wiring the house for electricity, whereas Monavar Khanom's home had had electricity for a year. His illness became worse and worse. During this time a suitor came for the younger sister, but Ali's father did not encourage him because the elder daughter was yet unmarried.

The night Ali was studying for his physics exam, Mehrangiz ran into his room, her eyes round with terror.

"Mehrangiz! What is it?" asked Ali, putting down his book.

"There's an owl on the roof, laughing!" she whispered, "Owls know everything; the owl is a prophet among birds. I'm scared!"

"Of what?"

"It's an omen. The master's sickness . . ."

"Well? What if it is?"

"We must make the owl promise . . ."

Ali and Mehrangiz climbed the stairs that led to the roof. At the top Ali had to wait for her, for she was getting older, and was worn from work. She was carrying a tray which held a Koran, a green leaf, bread and salt. On the roof she tip-toed to the owl and sat behind it. She lifted the Koran, whispering "By this Koran, by this bread and salt . . ." Ali smiled to himself. Then, suddenly, the owl spread its wings and flew away. Mehrangiz was overjoyed. "It flew to the ruins, where it belongs. It doesn't build nests, it just lives in ruins. We've done a good thing to make it go . . ."

Ali's father died the next week and Ali failed his finals.

He was the family's breadwinner now, and stopped going to school. Instead he was given a job in the office where his father had been an accountant. When he came home from work the first day he did imitations of his boss for Mehrangiz and his sisters; he pretended to be sitting at a desk where, frowning and spitting, he opened the top drawer and measured out some tea in an imaginary matchbox, sputtered, poured a little back, counted out exactly six sugar cubes, looked stealthily over his shoulder, put one back ... Mehrangiz and the girls laughed so hard that Ali's mother heard them from the courtyard. "How can you laugh with your father's shroud not yet dry?" she shouted angrily.

At the words "father" and "shroud," all the grief came back to Mehrangiz. She ran into the kitchen where she sat with her hands covering her face and cried. Ali's mother was furious' that Mehrangiz so openly mourned the master. "Mehrangiz," she shouted from the doorway. "Collect your junk and get out of this house. I can't feed a single extra mouth." Mehrangiz cried more wildly. She beat herself over the head and pulled at her hair. But Ali put his arm around her until she was quiet and then led her to the pond. "Come . . . wash your face . . . Would I let you leave the house?"

At the end of the summer, Monavar Khanom persuaded Ali's family to remove their mourning clothes, but Mehrangiz continued even so to wear a black headkerchief. Ali's mother had not succeeded in throwing her out, but she kept threatening to do so, and struggled with Ali over her. In September, the suitor who had been turned down by Ali's father married the younger sister. Monavar Khanom and Nayer stayed at the house for a week.

In the evening, the cousins and Mehrangiz would gather in the big room. The elder sister was quiet and glum, but the younger sister, with her rosy cheeks, made-up face and plucked eyebrows, had been transformed into another being. A smile never left her lips. As for Nayer, although she wore her chador in Ali's presence, she would sometimes allow it to slip off her head when she laughed hard. She had grown into an easy-going, handsome, flirtatious young girl.

Ali began his imitations, but even when the others were rocking with laughter, the elder sister didn't smile. Ali did imitations of everybody except her. Then, pointing at an imaginary map on the wall with a long stick. he imitated, first, the history teacher, and then the geography teacher. Finally he mingled the two. "This long, thin strip is Egypt. This is the Nile, home of Egyptologists. The Egyptian religion believes that the world rests on the back of a hippo and that each evening the sun is eaten by a pig. This is called the wisdom of the ancients."

Ali's elder sister frowned and interrupted him. "This is blasphemy. Ask God to forgive you."

"Ezat, dear, we're just playing," Nayer said. There's no harm done."

"Playing? Are you children? If he'd gotten married, his kids would be nearly my age!"

He'll marry, God willing," said Mehrangiz. "And I'll take care of his children myself. And you, Ezat Khanom, you'll get married as well."

Ezat said no more.

"Tell us about the pyramids," Nayer said to Ali.

"The religion insisted that kings be buried inside of manmade mountains, but it's not easy to build mountains, and man isn't like God to make mountains in the blinking of an eye. To say, ' Let there be,' and get it done. These mountains were built by slaves. They put stone on top of stone and climbed and climbed. But the pharaohs not only didn't reach the sky, they died on this very earth. Then they had themselves bandaged like a sore thumb and buried in their mountains."

Mehrangiz's eyes were wide with amazement. "Are Egyptians niggers?" she asked.

"No. They aren't niggers, but the niggers aren't the only ones oppressed," answered Ali, suddenly serious.

Ali's mother sold the large clock with the statues of Negro girls which had always sat on the mantle in the living room and the money went to the younger sister's dowry. But even with the one less mouth to feed, and even after Ali's boss made him secretary, the family could never make ends meet. Mehrangiz was constantly reminded that she was an added expense.

Whenever she had a chance now she would question Ali about Egypt. "Were they nigger slaves that built the mountains? And did they bring the niggers here from Egypt? And I've heard that Nurolsaba's land was below Egypt. A land like paradise. Nurolsaba was its princess. . ."

Ali's mother sold the great copper pot in which, once a year on the day of Imam Hasan's martyrdom, they had prepared sholezard to give to the poor. She gave half the money to a fortune-teller to help the elder sister marry; the other half she spent on a party for the new bride.

On the day of the party Ali didn't go to work, but stayed at home to act as host. Nayer and Monavar Khanom were buttering up the bridegroom and his parents. Ali's mother was in full control and, as usual, loaded Mehrangiz with more work than any four women could do. Mehrangiz rushed about like a top, offering refreshments to everyone, cleaning, preparing food. The guests left before sundown--all except Monavar Khanom and Nayer, who stayed on.

Early that evening Ali and Nayer had the big room to themselves. Nayer was saying her prayers, but her eyes were on Ali, who lay resting in such a way that he could watch her. Each time their eyes met, Nayer's cheeks blossomed like cherries. It was a pleasant, quiet time and Ali was happy. He didn't notice that Mehrangiz had entered the room until he felt her hand on his arm. She leaned and whispered in his ear to follow her. Ali didn't want to leave Nayer. Her blushing cheeks and laughing eyes were a delight to him, but he could not hurt Mehrangiz's feelings. She had taken care of him like her own son, and he felt closer to her than to his own mother. With a sigh, he rose and followed her out into the hall. She led him to the closed door of the living room, and there they stood and listened. Monavar's voice could be heard from inside. "He's a good suitor, but we haven't yet talked of . . ." The bubbles of the water pipe drowned the rest of the sentence. His mother was smoking the waterpipe." God's will be done," she answered then.

Monavar Khanom spoke again, but Ali heard only one word: "engaged." His mother's answer clarified the rest. "I don't expect you to wait for us, sister. You know how small Ali's wages are, we could never afford to bring a bride into the house."

"They may be in love. It's a sin to separate them."

"Ali's still a child, what does he know of love?"

"I said all this only so there would be no blame later."

Ali was furious. "I'm going in," he whispered to Mehrangiz, but she held his arm tightly. "I'm going to tell them Nayer is mine. That they have no right to marry her to someone else. That she's been mine since we were children. That she's always been with me . . ."

He tried to pull away, but Mehrangiz stopped him. "That will only make things worse," she whispered. "Your mother will start screaming, everything will be upset. If I had a silk chador I would put it on and go to Monavar Khanom's house, and I would say ... What would I say, master?"

Ali turned without answering and went to his room. He dressed quickly and went out without saying goodbye to his mother or to Nayer. Mehrangiz followed him to the door. "Don't worry. Worrying dries up man's root," she told him as she let him out.

One day when he came home from work no one answered his knock at the door. He could hear crying from within. He knocked harder. When his sister finally let him in, he found Mehrangiz stretched out in the flowerbed with a bloody face. The big kitchen knife was shining at the edge of the pond. His mother stood beside it trembling. Ali felt suddenly nauseated.

"My God, what's happened?" he whispered.

"Either she goes, or I go," answered his mother in a loud, firm voice. "The whole lot of you prefer her to me. Your sisters, your father, yourself. I know you're sleeping with her too."

Ali looked at her, amazed. "What are you talking about? For God's sake, what's happened?"

"What did you expect would happen? Look! She placed two little pieces of wax in his hand. He looked at them with incomprehension, and then up at his mother and sister with a blank, questioning face. Mehrangiz had begun to moan where she lay.

"Now she engages in witchcraft," he heard his mother say. "I found these two dolls in the kitchen, stuck together. I asked her what they were. 'This is for master Ali and Nayer Khanom, so they'll marry,' she says--but I wasn't born yesterday, I've dealt with these niggers all my life. 'If you know witchcraft, why don't you do something for my daughter so she can marry?' I ask her. 'You got to leave right now. Before Ali comes home,' I tell her. And then, the bitch, she picks up the knife to kill me."

Mehrangiz suddenly sat up, the blood dripping down over her muddy dress. "Master, it's not true," she wailed. "She drove me mad! I picked up the knife to kill myself, to free myself--would I dare kill the mistress? I've grown old in this house, and now . . ."

"Liar," shouted his mother. "You'd murder me in my sleep!"

Ali helped Mehrangiz to her feet and took her into the kitchen, where he helped her wash the wound.

That night when he came home he found her sitting on the doorstep, a bundle by her side. When she saw Ali she burst into tears. "I've got to go. Mistress says things that make my head smoke. You can't expect a woman who slanders her own child to do any better by a poor nigger."

"Mehrangiz, I . . ."

"Take these wax dolls," she told him, pulling the two figures from a fold in her chador. "Tie something heavy to them and drop them in the pond. Before the fortnight is over, Nayer will be yours." She forced the figures into his hand, they were warm from her body. "Now I have to go, to say good bye," Mehrangiz said, trying to hold back her tears. "I took care of you, my dear, like my own child."

"Where will you go? You have no place to go."

She dried her tears. Don't worry about me, I'll go to Monavar Khanom's. Maybe Nayer will take me as her dowry and we'll both come to your house."

"But if Monavar Khanom doesn't take you . . ."

"If Monavar Khanom doesn't take me in, I'll go to the bazaar and beg. Come and see me there from time to time, won't you."

Monavar Khanom did take Mehrangiz in, and a few months later when Nayer married, Mehrangiz did accompany her to her new husband's--but the husband was not Ali.

Ali didn't go to the wedding, even though his mother insisted that he go. That night was the first of the nights he could not sleep. He imagined there was something in his bed, but whenever he got up to look he found nothing there.

The next day there was a knock at the door. He was alone in the empty house. When he opened the door, Mehrangiz stood smiling sadly on the doorstep in a silk but worn, black chador.

He took her into the room. When she had sat down, she handed him something tied up in a nylon handkerchief. "What's this?"

"Sweets from the wedding. You were on my mind."

"You shouldn't have left the bride and groom just to make conversation," he said. The sweets depressed him.

"I got permission."

They sat facing each other, saying nothing. The house was silent.

"The bridegroom is bald, but we didn't find out until last night. In the morning, when I went to make the bed, I saw him. He's bald. He's a police detective, but he looks like a wrestler. Your little finger is worth a hundred like him."

"How is Nayer? Was she happy?" Ali tried hard not to disgrace himself by beginning to cry.

Mehrangiz shook her head, lowered her eyes. "No."

"Tell me."

"Last night in the bedroom she sat on the bed. When the women wanted to put her hand in the bridegroom's she refused. She was beautiful, Ali. She wore red geraniums in her hair, and in the center of the flowers was a tiny electric bulb which she could turn on at will. I don't know how--praised be the Lord."

She looked at Ali, waiting for him to comment on the wonderful headdress, but when he didn't she went on. "Finally the bridegroom took her hand by force. A red geranium fell on the bed."

Sometimes, after that, Nayer and her son came to visit Ali with Mehrangiz. Her husband, in all the years he had been in the family. had never said two words to Ali. He never visited them except on New Year's Day.

Nayer made a military uniform for her son. The boy looked uncomfortable in it, but he sauntered around proudly, his little wooden sword hitting his leg as he walked.

"Why do you dress your son like a killer?" Ali asked Nayer once.

"He looks cute in the uniform, doesn't he?" Nayer answered--but the boy was never again dressed as a soldier when they visited.

Once when her husband was away on a case, Nayer, her son and Mehrangiz came to Ali's for lunch. Nayer had gained weight, but when she looked at Ali her eyes were sad and reproachful.

After lunch, Mehrangiz brought the boy to the big room to sleep. Ali was lying down reading the paper when they came in. Mehrangiz looked so old now that even Ali's mother no longer suspected him of sleeping with her. He put the paper aside to watch the child, who reminded him of Nayer. The boy didn't want to sleep, he asked Ali for colored pencils, but Ali had none.

"You must sleep, my dear," Mehrangiz coaxed. "Go and kiss master then come back and lie down and I'll tell you a story."

Ali closed his eyes in anticipation of the kiss, but none came.

As he lay back with his eyes closed, he could hear Mehrangiz's low voice. "They bowed to Nurolsaba. They bowed and bowed. Then they dressed her up in Indian gowns and adorned her with jewels, and took her to their own land. In their land was a king who had the niggers build him a mountain by the river. They had everything in their land except mountain and the king longed for a mountain. The niggers carried one-ton rocks on their backs and built the mountain. Now Nurolsaba can see the mountain, but no trees grow there . . ."

Ali opened his eyes. He saw Mehrangiz sitting beside the boy, rubbing his back.

"Why don't they?" Ali asked.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Mehrangiz said. "The child doesn't sleep, unless I tell him stories--just like you," she said.

"I asked why trees don't grow there," demanded Ali.

"Because they shed so much blood for those mountains. To shed a black cat's blood or a nigger's blood comes to no good."

Ali closed his eyes again in the hot midday. He heard the boy ask for more. Mehrangiz told the story of the children and the man in the Arabic head-gear; then she told another story which he'd never heard before:

"My mother knew the niggers' language, but no one taught it to me. One day a nigger comes to grandfather's house and speaks to my mother in their own language. The master and mistress don't understand a word of it. The next day, my mother packs her things in a bundle and says she's going to the baths. They don't hear from her for a whole year, and although they look everywhere, it's as though she were a drop of water sunk into the ground. They all think she has run away for good--but then one day she comes back. It is in the evening, and she isn't alone, for she has me hidden under her chador. Well, she cries and cries until the mistress finally forgives her and she lives again in the house. But after that, once every year, she takes me and disappears for a few days . . ."

"Do you remember where she went?" asked Ali suddenly, sitting up. "Do you remember who she went to?"

I remember things like in a dream. There was a place with a well. A nigger would come and take me in his arms, kiss me, give me fresh fruit. Then I would stay with the cows--it was a farm. I was afraid of the cows, but I loved it when the buckets came up from the well and the water gushed out. The wheel sang and sang, and the water poured down. My mother and the nigger would go inside and shut the door. The last time we went there the nigger was gone. A man told my mother that they came for him, chained him, and took him to Bushehr. My mother cried."

One evening shortly after that there was a quick knock at the door. There stood Nayer's husband, back from his assignment. He was in uniform, and his epaulets glittered with stars. Ali had a sudden impulse to pluck those stars from the uniform ... but sometimes, too, he felt a strange affection for him, because the man was closer to Nayer than anyone else.

"Come with me," said Nayer's husband softly. Ali was frightened. "Nayer or Mehrangiz," he wondered, but did not ask. He dressed, his heart pounding.

"My servant didn't know the way, I had to come myself," Nayer's husband explained as they left the house.

"Is it Nayer or Mehrangiz?" asked Ali at last.

"Mehrangiz. She's asked for you."

"What's wrong?"

"The old woman's turned senile. She pumped the primus stove until it exploded and burned her all over. That was yesterday."

"You took her to the hospital?"

"It wasn't worth the bother."

Ali was silent. They didn't speak until they reached the house. Nayer opened the door. She held her son by the hand, and Ali saw that she was pregnant again.

"She's upstairs," said Nayer immediately. "I was afraid to sit with her longer." Her eyes were red.

Ali climbed the stairs. The door was open. He hesitated, then walked in. Mehrangiz lay on a mattress, but he barely recognized her. She looked like a charred piece of meat. Her face was so swollen with blisters that she could barely open her eyes. When she saw Ali, she tried weakly to smile. "I was waiting for you, my own master," she whispered.

"Why didn't you call me sooner so I could bring a doctor?" demanded Ali, kneeling beside the bed. "I would have taken you to hospital."

"What's the use?"

She tried suddenly to drag herself out of the bed, toward a southern window. Ali stopped her. "Do you want the window open?" he asked.

"No, I want to face the ghebleh, to die facing Mecca."

Ali took the mattress and, as she lay on it, carefully dragged it to the side so that Mehrangiz would be facing the ghebleh.

Nayer came in, a white handkerchief in her hand. She stood quietly just inside the doorway, as though she didn't want to be in the way.

Mehrangiz was calm. "The prayer stone is on the mantle. Please put it on my eyes," she asked.

Nayer took the stone and blew the dust from it. "It's broken," she said. "Let me get you a good one."

"No, let it be broken ... it's good enough for an old nigger like me."

Ali sat on the floor then, in the silent room. Nayer continued to stand just inside the door. He could feel her eyes on him, but. his thoughts were elsewhere. She asked him if he could bring up a chair, but he refused. Then the room was silent again. He could hear Mehrangiz straining for breath, could hear Nayer quietly crying. It was nearly completely dark before Nayer turned the light on: it was a naked, fly-spotted bulb which hung from the ceiling.

When Mehrangiz spoke again her voice was small and far away--as far as another world. "They put henna on my feet . . . it felt cool ... I got into the carriage with Nurolsaba," she whispered. "The men wore sheepskin hats. At the well, he gave me fresh fruit. Cool ... so cool ... it made me cool inside ... She tidied the place, she said she was going to the baths. She's at the baths. The niggers built the mountains. Below the mountains there was a land like paradise, waiting. And the water was so cool ... so cool . . ."

Ali sat beside Mehrangiz's body. Nayer's shadow, with her prominent belly, was like a pyramid standing on one corner.